five times Peter Parker didn't call Tony Stark 'dad'
by psychicchameleon
Summary: ...and the one time he kind of did.
1. The Cherry-Red Porsche 944 Turbo

**an: so I don't know about y'all, bu for these "five times" stories. And, let's be real, I wasn't going to sleep tonight anyway so I figured why not. For the newbies—it's just me and a computer and about forty-five minutes of word vomit (sans editor) so apologies in advance for grammar/typos/etc.**

five times Peter Parker didn't call Tony Stark 'dad'

...and the one time he kind of did.

1\. / The Cherry-Red Porsche 944 Turbo

It was the third Sunday in June.

Happy pulled up to Masy Parker's apartment, audibly cursing at the cars honking behind him as a grinning Peter slid clumsily into the backseat.

He'd offered to walk to the tower, but it was raining outside and Tony had refused.

He'd dealt with the boy enough to know that "walking" really meant putting on a certain red-and-blue suit and swinging across New York, and Stark made it abundantly clear that he would not be held responsible for a fifteen-year-old Spider-kid slipping down the side of the Chrysler Building.

" _But Mr. Stark, that's not how it works,"_ Peter had protested.

" _How does that song go again? Down came the rain and washed the spider out?"_

" _But the adhesion means that I—"_

" _Unh-uh. The nursery rhyme has spoken kid."_

Peter knew the rain wouldn't be a problem, especially in his high-tech suit. He also knew Tony knew that. It didn't matter, his mentor wouldn't budge.

He hadn't seen Tony's forehead of security in a while anyway.

"Hey Happy," he said, looking at the man through the rearview mirror.

"You know, I've worked for Tony eleven years now. What does it get me? It gets me put on pick-up duty. Do I look like a yellow school bus to you?"

He was shaking his head, but the barely-there softness in his eyes contradicted his annoyed words.

Peter laughed. "It's good to see you too buddy."

At the Tower, Peter waltzed into the lobby as a voice around him boomed, "welcome, Mr. Parker."

"FRIDAY, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Peter?"

A slightly drenched Happy strolled in behind Peter, shaking the rain from his clothes.

"Welcome, Mr. Grinch."

Happy stuck his middle-finger toward the camera in the wall. "One of these days, Tony, I'm actually going to kill you. And I mean it this time. I'll do it."

Peter followed the familiar hallways to the workshop where Tony was tinkering, a sweaty black tank tee clinging to his back and a welding mask covering his face. He waved at the older man through the glass, motioning for him to let Peter in, but Tony simply shrugged and pointed to the control panel next to the door in a way that said, _sorry kid, it's protocol._

Peter rolled his eyes and placed his hand on the pad until it prompted, "voice recognition required."

He took a breath before muttering his password to the pad.

"Voice recognition failed."

He lifted his palm and placed it again before repeating his password, this time just slightly louder.

"Voice recognition failed."

Tony Stark lifted up the mask at this point, watching Peter expectantly.

He placed his palm one more time and stared at the ground as this time he said, audibly, "Itsy Bitsy Spidey."

Tony smiled triumphantly as the doors slid open.

"Glad to see you made it Pete."

Peter just gave a half-hearted glare, "Would it kill you to just open the door for me?"

Tony looked at his protégé incredulously, "what, and risk the security of this facility? You know better than that, safety first and all that jazz."

Meanwhile, Dum-E was still extinguishing a smoking pile of scraps in the corner of the room and about twenty-four different hazardous materials were strewn across the workbench.

He clapped a hand on the back of Peter's shoulder, "okay kid, let's get to work. You have to earn your keep somehow."

Peter remembered the first day Tony had let him into the shop.

" _Ground rules: no breaking any of my fancy toys. Actually, scratch that, no_ touching _any of my fancy toys. How about we just don't breathe on the toys, okay? Or me. Especially no breathing on me."_

Those rules didn't last long, and gradually Peter had worked his way up from silent observer, to Tony's glorified page, to actually helping with the design and building process.

Not that he still wasn't a glorified page.

"Wrench," Tony commanded, as Peter smoothly slid the tool toward the pair of legs peeking out from under the car.

Peter had expected to work on additions to the Iron-Spider suit, or new webshooter combinations, or even new specs for the Iron Man suit. That was the norm.

So, when Peter saw the cherry-red Porsche 944 Turbo parked in the center of the room, he did a bit of a double-take.

"I needed a day off from the superhero stuff," Tony explained before Peter could voice his confusion, "and I figured that you could use some real-world instruction because, even though I know you'd sleep in that damn suit if I let you, the hero thing is more of a part-time gig. I don't care how many times you save Queens, if you ever have to call triple A, then I feel like I've failed as a mentor."

A few hours later Peter was laid out on a dolly right next to Tony as he pointed out and explained things like carburetors and fuel pumps. He taught him how to check the oil and change a tire.

They spend the rest of the time brainstorming ways to improve the engine.

"When I was your age, my dad came home with this old beater of a car. We spent about a week fixing it up—one of the only times he ever showed more than a passing interest in me. Or maybe he was just interested in the car. It doesn't really matter. Either way, for once in his life he cared about something related to me," he said, giving a half-wistful smile.

"He gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday. It had a big red bow and everything. God I loved that thing."

Peter smiled as Tony reminisced.

"Let me tell you kid, this car—this was the shit. You had one of these and you were guaranteed to be having se—" he stopped short, looking at the kids wide eyes, "you had instant friends," he finished instead.

Another hour later, the two emerged from the workshop with grease and oil on their hands and shirts and faces. Pepper passed them in the hallway and fought a smile before she chastised her fiancé.

"Tony, for God's sake, please tell me you're going to take a shower before we meet my dad for dinner."

"Yea, Pep, I'll take a shower. Remind me, again, why we're meeting with your half-estranged pops?"

"It's Father's Day, Tony. We do this every year."

"Right," he said, running his fingers through his hair. "Okay, I'll take a shower and meet you back here in twenty minutes."

As Pepper walked away, Tony turned to the kid and said, "Well, I'll have Happy take you home, as you're excused from the dinner from hell."

Peter looked lost, like he wanted to say something but wasn't quite sure if it was apropos. Tony wasn't his dad, and yet...

"Your face is somewhere between I-have-to-take-a-shit and oh-my-god-someone-kicked-Ned right now. What is it, kid?"

Peter hesitated another second before saying, "H—." What was he doing? If he said "happy Father's Day" to Tony Stark then he was opening up a whole new can of worms in whatever this relationship was that they had.

Tony raised an eyebrow at him.

Here goes nothing.

"Happy f— ...eels like a school bus driver," Peter blurted out, changing his mind at the last minute. It was too awkward, too delicate, too much.

Tony just chuckled and said, "yea, well, he'll get over it. Go home kid; I'll have the bus driver pick you up again this weekend and maybe we can work on that car some more."

They kept tinkering with the car for the better part of the next couple of months, and on a Wednesday afternoon when Peter walked out of Midtown School of Science and Technology—his mind distracted by the thought of May's famous store-bought birthday cupcakes and Chinese takeout—he saw the car in the parking lot. On it was a single red bow and a note that read, "Happy Birthday (and for the love of God don't make me regret this). –T.S."


	2. The Hayden Planetarium

**an: TW for mention of panic attacks. This was a hard one for me to write, as sometimes talking about panic attacks triggers a panic attack, so I did my best to give y'all a glimpse of what I think it would feel like for Peter—and for those of you that already know what it feels like, I love you.**

2\. / The Hayden Planetarium

"Within the last few hundred years, we humans, inhabitants of a small planet orbiting this unexceptional star, have learned where the galaxies are, what they're made of, and how they got to be that way," the voice of Neil deGrasse Tyson filled the theater, as students stretched their necks to the ceiling, eyes-wide, the universe spinning around them.

Peter's class was on a trip to the Hayden Planetarium Space Theater, a trip that, last year, Peter would have been over the moon about, bad pun aside.

It was his _thing_ , planets and stars and all the nerdy science to go along with it.

So why was it taking everything in him not to hurl all over the kid one row ahead?

His hands were sweating, running themselves up and down the plastic armrests before scratching across his chest involuntarily. He took a look at the kids around him again, still staring at the universe in wonder, but then the world was literally spinning around him, and it would only be a matter of seconds before he actually vomited.

Peter quickly excused himself, brushing off a slightly worried look from Ned with a half-smile and a motion that said he had to pee. He gave the same look to his teacher and got a silent nod of approval before he nearly ran out of the auditorium.

He only made it a few steps out of the double doors before he was on the ground, hands clutched to his now-heaving chest.

"Hey, love, are you alright?" A uniformed employee strode over to him, placing her hand on his back. The alarmingly empty look that Peter gave her instead of a reply was answer enough.

"N-no... ma'am... I don't—I don't feel so good."

And those words, _those words,_ were enough to send him spinning again. His sweaty fingers gripped at his shirt, threatening to rip it to shreds, because he just needed to _feel_ it, to know that it was still there, that he was still there.

"Is there someone I can call for you?"

Aunt May was out of town, he remembered, which only made the horrible palpitations in his heart surge again.

"Here, honey, let's get your over into the bathroom," she said, as Peter lifted a hand to cover his mouth, his body shivering and convulsions sending him forward every couple of seconds.

He was barely conscious of her lifting him to his feet and basically carrying him to a family restroom off to the side of the building.

"What's your name, hon?" She gently asked, arms still wrapped around his shoulder's.

"P-Peter," he managed, his voice a broken whisper.

"Okay Peter, we're going to get you feeling better, okay? Are your mom or dad at work, should I get one of them to come down here—breathe, love, just breathe for me—can I have your cell phone?"

Peter clumsily fished the phone out of his pocket, typing his password incorrectly several times because his fingers were trembling.

"Okay, who should I call?" She opened up the contacts list, holding the phone out in front of Peter. The name was right there, second from the top. He pressed the screen quickly and went back to dry-heaving.

Tony Stark picked up on the second ring.

"Pete, aren't you supposed to be in school?" Tony's voice rang out from the other end of the phone, easily audible with Peter's heightened senses. The woman had the phone pressed to her ear with one hand, the other rubbing gently on Peter's back.

"Hello, this is Angie at the Hayden Planetarium. Is this Peter's father?"

"N-.. no—h- he's," Peter started, but Tony was already talking.

"Something like that," Tony replied without skipping a beat, "what's going on?"

"Sir, Peter isn't feeling very well. I think it would be best if you could come down here and take him home."

"Is he okay?" Tony asked, fear creeping into his voice.

"Yes, he's in one piece, but sometimes the exhibit can leave people feeling nauseous. I've got him here in the bathroom, but if you could come down here I think that would really help him."

"Okay, stay there with him, I'll be there in ten minutes."

Angie called back four minutes later.

"Sir, Peter's breathing is really erratic and he says he's having chest pains. I called an ambulance to be safe, it should be here—" Tony didn't hear the rest, because he was already sprinting through the doors of the planetarium.

He could vaguely hear sirens down the street as he spotted Peter and Angie. She'd lifted him toward the front doors, preparing for the EMTs.

"You must be Tony," she said to the frantic looking man standing in front of her, "the ambulance should be pulling up any second."

He wasn't listening to her, because his eyes were trained on Peter, whose face was drained to a ghastly white, chest rising and falling at a rate that was way too fast.

"I don't wanna go, Tony, I don't wanna go... please, please I don't wanna go."

It took everything in Tony to not drop to his knees at the sounds of the Peter's cries, but he needed to be here, fully present, if he was going to make sure the kid was going to be okay.

Peter could feel the blood pumping from his heart, could feel it in his ears and head and _toes._ His forehead was slick with sweat, brown hair matted down, as damp patches were beginning to show through his gray NASA T-shirt.

The EMTs arrived thirty seconds later, carefully placing Peter on a stretcher and hooking him up to a heart monitor.

One of the paramedics stepped aside to speak with Tony.

"Sir, are you this child's father?"

"Yes," he said, unblinking, knowing it was the only way to get into the back of that ambulance with Peter, and the boy was too dazed to object.

"Okay, we'll have you ride along with us then."

They got the young boy situated and then in a little under two minutes they were racing toward the nearest hospital.

Several nurses pulled the stretcher away as soon as they entered the building, and Tony tried to follow but was held back by a scrubs-clad man who calmly explained, "We're just going to run a few tests, sir, and then you'll be able to see him again."

Peter was only partially conscious as the doctors ran an CT scan to check for internal bleeding and then an EKG to monitor his heart.

About thirty minutes later, Peter's breathing had returned to a normal rate, and the pain in his chest had mostly subsided. He was no longer painfully aware of the pounding of his heart and for the most part, he felt normal again.

He glanced around the room, finally aware of his surroundings.

"Mr. Parker, how are you feeling?" He asked, placing a reassuring hand on the boy's arm.

"Better, I think," he paused, "what happened?"

The nurse sat down next to the bed Peter was lying in and explained, "we believe you suffered a panic attack Peter. Do you know if you have any history of panic disorder or anxiety?"

Peter shook his head.

"Well, the causes for a panic attack can range from nothing specific at all to a particular trigger, as in the case of some forms of post-traumatic stress disorder. And while they are harmless in and of themselves, if you've never experienced one before, it can easily be mistaken for symptoms of a heart attack or a clot in the lungs. We ran all of the routine diagnostic tests, and everything seems to be working properly."

The man seemed to pick up on the embarrassment in Peter's eyes, because he continued, "panic attacks are very traumatic, Peter. And we're always happy to err on the side of safety, so it's really good you came in. We'd like to monitor you for another hour or so, just as a precaution, and then we'll set up an appointment with a psychiatrist before you leave to determine the best course of action from here on out. Does that sound okay?"

Peter just nodded, still a bit overwhelmed at the blood pressure machine attached to his arm and the oxygen monitor on his finger and the bright white walls surrounding him.

"Do you feel up to having your father come in here?"

He looked confused for a moment before he realized the man meant Tony.

"Oh, he's not... he's not my dad." The nurse looked a bit surprised but quickly masked it.

"But um, yea, he can come in. He's probably freaking out out there."

When the doctors explained that Peter had had a panic attack, all Tony could think was, _God, not the kid._

After three years of nightmares and near constant anxiety, the last thing Tony wanted was one more thing standing between Peter Parker being a stress-free teenager.

He had just gotten off the phone with May when one of the nurses gave him the green light to visit Peter.

"Hey kid," he said, stepping into the doorframe, closing the door gently behind himself.

"Hi, Mr. Stark," Peter replied sheepishly. "I'm sorry for getting everyone so worked up over nothing."

"No, Pete," he shook his head, "not nothing."

Peter looked nervously to the ceiling.

"It really felt like I was dying," his said, his voice so incredibly small, and Tony moved to sit on the end of the bed.

"I know. They're a tricky beast."

It took a second, but then a look of understanding flashed across Peter's face.

"I'm not going to lie to you and tell you they'll make them go away, but we can get you in to see some people, and it will help you cope. I can work with you, show you some of the things that help me," he says, and his voice is so gentle and so reassuring that it almost feels foreign, and Peter swallows thickly.

"But for right now, let's get you home, okay? If you're alright with it, you can stay with me. I already talked to your terrifying Aunt and told her that the situation is under control, but we can call her back if you'd rather have her come home early."

Peter shook his head vigorously.

"No, she's been looking forward to this trip for months. Besides, I heard you lied and told the doctors you're my dad now."

Tony rolls his eyes and says, "Yea, well, desperate times kid."

Peter laughs a genuine laugh—a far cry from the ghost of Peter that Tony had seen at the museum—and says, "Oh, God, can you even imagine?"

Tony snorts. "Yea, not really my type. I'd like to thank my old man for that. I think I'll stick with being like the aloof, distantly related rich-uncle."

Tony sets Peter up with one of the best psychiatrists in the state—the same one he visits himself—before they leave the hospital, and they spend the rest of the night watching Peter's practically vintage Star Wars VHS tapes and tinkering with the collection of Legos he keeps at Tony's.

And as he sits and helps Peter learn to cope, Tony doesn't mention the fact that he _can_ imagine it. That the thought of being a father figure for Peter doesn't make him break out in hives like he thought it would. Because it certainly should be making him break out in hives.

When he looks over, Peter's head is resting in his hands at the table, and Tony gently nudges him awake.

"Alright, kid, bed time. I'll see you in the morning."

No, definitely not the father type.

 **Note: If you have any ideas/prompts for future chapters and/or other fics, PM me or mention it in the reviews. I have some ideas, but I'd love to know what y'all think!**


	3. The Kidnapping

**an: I imagine this to be set sometime after Civil War, and before Infinity War. My villain sucks, but there's a reason I don't write the movies. Also, PLEASE REQUEST what you want to see. I need ideas for new stories. And if any of y'all are interested, I just posted a new story about May's reaction to the end of Infinity War.**

"How much do you think you're worth, kid?" The woman circled him, looking him up and down as if assessing an item for sale, not a fifteen-year-old child.

"Huh? A few hundred thousand dollars? Maybe a million or two?"

"He won't come," Peter spat, blood in his saliva, arms straining against the chains that held him down.

The woman laughed, and it was a horrifically menacing sound.

"Right, kid. Tony Stark will risk his life over and over again for random people, people who persecute him, who protest outside his door and smear his name across the evening news. But, you're right, I doubt he'd save his own kid."

"I'm not his kid," he whispered for the thousandth time, "just an intern."

She just laughed that awful laugh again.

"Give it a rest. I've tailed the two of you for months now. You don't buy your intern a car, or take him out for pizza on a Thursday night, or show up in the front row of his decathlon meet. You don't make _an intern_ a million-dollar suit. Even Tony Stark isn't that charitable."

"You're wrong," was all he managed.

She seemed to entertain the thought for a second, scrunching her face and biting one of her black fingernails in contemplation.

"M-hm. Humor me then, kid. What's a billionaire superhero doing with a pathetic thing like you?"

 _A pathetic thing like you._

He'd be lying if he said he'd never had the same thought.

Peter sometimes thought it was because he was a walking charity case; an unsuspecting teen who had stumbled upon some powers and was in desperate need of a coach. He even had the tragic backstory to boot.

Tony had some demons to atone for, and maybe Peter was his idea of penance.

He'd wondered when it would end, when Tony would finish his due diligence, make his peace with the world, and then Peter would be on his own. Again.

"I don't know," he whispered to the scrutinizing woman.

The room was a bright, sterile white, and interrogation-style lights burned into his eyes.

She had speakers set up in each corner of the cell with a different radio program blaring from each of them.

The lights and sounds were overwhelming, leaving his brain in a dizzying spiral. He didn't know exactly how long he'd been there, but he guessed it was over a few hours.

Peter could hardly concentrate enough to speak, let alone form a plan to escape, and he was using all of the resolve he could muster just to keep his eyes dry. He couldn't afford to let the woman know just how well her setup was working.

He felt like Superman in the presence of Kryptonite, drained and utterly powerless. That sinking feeling crept up on him quickly, coursing through his head, his veins, his heart, making them heavy, like his blood had turned to lead.

"What do you want from me?" He asked, the act of speaking making him want to vomit on the floor. With every passing minute, the lights burned brighter and the sounds rang louder.

"Oh, I don't want a thing from you, love. You're just the bait."

"It won't work," he paused, taking a few breaths to steady himself, "he's not that dumb."

She laughed once more, the sound like needles pressing into his eardrums.

"Dumb? No. But Stark's weakness has always been his humanity and that's why I _know_ this will work."

He wanted her to be wrong; but in his heart, he also knew that Tony would come. Peter just hoped he'd be prepared for the trap.

A thud reverberated through the reinforced walls, and a sick smile crossed the woman's face.

"Daddy's here."

The sight of Peter's face, devoid of any color save for the smears of blood and dirt, threatened to send Tony to his knees.

He hadn't needed to break down any walls, and the signal sent by Peter's suit had been easy enough to trace. In fact, it had all been too easy. But he didn't let that thought cross his mind because, as terrible as he looked, Peter was right in front of him. And he was alive.

"Mr. Stark," he wheezed, eyes squeezed so tightly together that the blood vessels on the side of his head were visible, "you have to go."

Tony wasn't looking at Peter anymore, though. His eyes were trained on the other room's other occupant. In an instant, his hands were up and firing. The speakers were blown to pieces and shards of glass rained down from the ceiling before his palms trained on her.

The effect was instantaneous. Blood rushed back to Peter's face and he opened his eyes again.

"Mr. Stark—," Peter started, and Tony turned to the sound for a split second, giving the woman time to reach behind her back.

He expected a gun, maybe even a knife, or literally anything beside the item she actually pulled. It looked like a phone, and her finger hovered precariously over a button.

"Really? That was your big plan? Trap us in here and blow us all to smithereens? Lady, if you have a death wish, you don't need to take it out on the rest of us."

The woman didn't falter; a menacing smirk slid across her face.

"It's not a bomb. Well, not the kind you're thinking of anyway. But it will blow up the kid's life if you don't put the weapons away, Stark."

Tony looked confounded, and his eyes were vicious, but he slowly lowered his hands. He wasn't going to play games with Peter's safety.

"Good. Try that again," she wiggled her finger, "and I press this button, and every major news network gets a video proving that your 'intern' right here is in fact Spider-Man. No one that he loves will never be safe again."

Tony thought about ending her right there—maybe he could beat her to the punch. Hell, would it be so bad if the world knew who Peter was?

One look at Peter abolished that idea. His face was about as pale as it had been when Tony first walked in, and he knew what was running through his head.

 _May._ If they knew who Spider-Man was, they would go after May. And after experiencing Pepper's kidnapping, and seeing Happy nearly on his deathbed, Tony knew he couldn't risk that for the kid.

"What do you want?" He asked, teeth gritted.

"The suit."

Tony faked a laugh. "Look, lady, I'd love to hand it over, but I'm kind of going commando under here, and I don't know that we're there yet," he gestured his hands back and forth between the two of them, quickly stopping when her finger twitched over the button.

"Give me the suit, or I send this and then every villain out there learns that the world's newest superhero is some puny twelve-year-old dork from Queens. It's up to you."

He ponders for a second, as if weighing the options, and she laughs.

"Damn, maybe the kid was telling the truth. You really don't care about him, do you? What is he, some long lost accident from a one-off with a sorority slut from college? A little side project for you to fix when you're bored?"

The look on Peter's face as she was talking made his heart sink, but he had to keep stalling. They'd have a chat later—when this lunatic was behind bars and Peter didn't look like a character off _The Walking Dead._

"First off, whoever you are, I'm pretty sure slut-shaming isn't okay anymore—or was ever okay—but I'm going to let that little comment slide for now. He's not my kid—not technically, at least," he looked at Peter before he continued, "and we haven't really had a chance to dive into the daddy issues and the whole define-the-relationship talk, and not that it's really any of your damn business, but, here's the kicker, I do give a shit about him and I'd really prefer it if you didn't ruin his life."

She opened her mouth, but he quickly shushed her. A look of relief washed over him as he spoke into the suit's comms unit.

"Nat, I know we're not on super great terms, but did you take your sweet time just to spite me?"

Confusion crossed the woman's face, and her finger instinctively pressed into the button on her device.

Peter blanched, but Tony didn't flinch.

"You just signed his death certificate," she hissed, dropping the phone on the floor.

"Actually, you just signed yours," he said, as Natasha Romanoff entered the room and had the woman on the floor, unconscious, in under two seconds.

"God, that sounded cheesy. I blame her; this whole thing reminds me of the plotline from a terrible DC movie," Tony said, emerging from his suit (under which he was, thank God, not going commando).

"How long does it take to remotely delete a video off of a damn iPhone? Jesus, haven't you ever had to erase some racy photos from an ex's phone before?"

"It's not my fault you didn't mention anything about having to hack into a phone when you told me your plan. But if you think you can do better, I'll remember that next time you call me in a panic because I happened to be in town," she said, giving Tony a glare before she smiled at him.

"It's good to see you, Nat."

"It's good to see you, too, even if you are still a huge pain in my ass. Can we maybe not mention this to Clint, though? You're still at the top of his shit list and I'm trying to be the namesake of his next child."

Tony offered his hand, "I won't tell if you won't tell."

"Deal," she said, shaking his hand before eyeing the kid who was still restrained in his chair.

In a minute, the two had the chains off and were helping the kid to his feet.

Peter blushed a little when she put an arm around his shoulder to steady him.

"Y-you're," he stuttered.

"She's back-up," Tony finished. "You know, that thing you're supposed to call when you're in trouble?"

They were outside the building now, Happy looking entirely out of place in the driver's seat of the silver Audi, surrounded by deserted, crumbling buildings.

Peter looked away from Tony guiltily, and Natasha elbowed the older man in the ribs.

"I'm Nat; I saw you in Germany. Your combat skills aren't too bad, for Stark's kid," she winked.

"He's not—," they both started, and Nat couldn't tell which was better: the wide-eyed embarrassed look on Peter's face, or the pursed-lipped, slightly disappointed one on Tony's.

"It was nice to meet you, Pete. And Tony? Maybe keep a better eye on him next time?"

Before either one of them could protest, she was gone.

"How did she," Peter stammered.

"Rule one with Agent Romanoff: don't ask questions. My personal theory is that she's some kind of alien, or maybe a witch, but Bruce hasn't been around to help me test that hypothesis."

Tony opened the door for Peter before climbing in beside him, and the jokes faded as he saw how tired and small Peter looked.

"Nat deleted that video off of everything kid—no one is ever going to see it. May and Ned and MJ are all still safe, and we're going to keep it that way, okay?"

Peter nodded, but something was clearly still eating at him.

"Pete, talk to me. What is it?"

He thought about lying and saying it was nothing, but he couldn't deal with not knowing anymore.

"What am I, to you?"

Tony raised his eyebrow, troubled that the kid had to even ask the question.

"I didn't even hesitate to call Natasha, even though it meant burying my pride and rebuilding some bridges, when I knew you were missing. And you _know_ that's hard for me."

Peter let out a small laugh.

"But I would do it again, in a heartbeat, because I need you to know that you are important to me, and if you _ever_ need me, I will always be there. No matter what. Understood?"

Peter just nodded, words stuck in the back of his throat.

"Okay, good. Glad we had our moment. Now let's get you home before your aunt has my head on a silver platter."


	4. The New York Post

**an: I spent a long time on this chapter, mainly because it is very MJ and Tony centric, and I had a hard time trying to come up with an interaction between them that felt real. I debated for a long time on posting this, but eventually figured I'd let you guys decide if you liked it or not. Big shout-out to Toni42 for giving me this idea (that I ended up modifying a bit) and to EVERYONE who has followed/favorited this story, you have no idea how much it motivates me to write more.**

4\. / The New York Post

It started with white block letters on the front page of the _New York Post._

"Genius, Billionaire, Superhero... and Secret Dad?"

Behind the headline was a grainy photo of Tony and Peter leaving a restaurant, Tony's hand placed protectively on the kid's shoulder, while Peter's hand was covering his eyes in an attempt to block out the flashing cameras.

MJ was the first one to tell Peter. Actually, she didn't _tell_ Peter so much as cryptically glare at him for the better part of a school day.

"Does MJ seem more annoyed than usual today?" Peter asked Ned, nervously furrowing his eyebrows as she stabbed a piece of lettuce with her fork, brought it to her mouth, and then stabbed another one, never breaking her icy deadlock with Peter throughout the whole process.

"I'm not annoyed. I'm trying to figure out whether you're actually dumb or just morally unsound," she says, still stabbing her lettuce and glaring from a table over.

Ned and Peter exchanged an uneasy glance.

"If this is about that comment I made earlier about Star Wars being better than Star Trek, I just meant that, in my own _personal_ opinion...," he trailed off because MJ was giving him I look that screamed " _for the love of God stop talking"._

"No, you moron, I was talking about this," she said as a wad of paper came flying toward Peter's face.

 _The New York Post._

"You read this kind of stuff?" He asked, eyebrow raised.

"No. I tear it up and use it as bedding for my hamster. It's both therapeutic and functional."

Ned stared at MJ with a look that was both mildly intrigued and wholly terrified as Peter's eyes scanned over the front of the tabloid, widening as he read the headline.

"I thought it was bad enough that you were _interning_ with him but at least I get that, it'll get you into MIT and basically anywhere you want to go, but—," her sentence was cut off by a loud squeal.

A loud squeal named Ned.

"Oh. My. God. Tony Stark's your _dad_?! Peter this is so cool!"

It took Peter a full second to come out of his daze before he was shaking his head and saying, "Ned, no, Tony Stark is _not_ my dad. The press follows us sometimes when we go out, they're just looking for headlines."

Ned's face fell briefly before lighting up again.

"You and Tony Stark go out?! And there are paparazzi there? Peter you've reached the peak of coolness."

"Oh, you're right, it's so _cool_ to be best friends with a man who was too busy defiling feminism and drinking away his daddy issues that he didn't even know his company was funding terrorism across the globe."

"He's not like that anymore," Peter argued, but MJ was having none of it.

"I don't care how many times he's saved the world. The world didn't need saving until he asked for a fight by broadcasting his suit of armor; all he's ever done is clean up his own messes. And he goes home at the end of the night and locks himself in his ivory tower while the rest of us wait to be attacked by aliens. Again."

Her attack on Tony left Peter feeling exposed and gutted, as if it were a direct attack on Peter himself. He wanted to argue with her, to refute everything even though some of her claims _are_ valid, and it just adds to the chaos in his mind.

The sight of an emotionally unstable Peter and a visibly heated Michelle is enough for Ned to know that he needs to say something. Immediately.

"Michelle, you know, Tony and Peter are pretty close and, yea, he's probably done some shady things in the past but, I mean, St. Augustine was like the medieval equivalent of a frat boy and he's a _saint_ now so maybe we should take it kind of easy on him," he rambled, desperate to break the tension.

"So what? He tells you he's changed and you just take his word for it? Were the tabloids right for once, is he really playing house with you now? Iron Man wasn't enough for him so he's going to try to be Iron Dad, indoctrinating some kid off the street to take up his mantle?"

Peter's eyes are red. Ned can tell, even though he's looking at the floor. Weirdly enough, though, are that MJ's eyes are red too, her cheeks pink with a simmering heat.

"He's not becoming my stand-in dad, he's just, we're just...," he stammers, biting his lip, "look I don't know how to explain it, and honestly, why do you even care? You don't know him, MJ."

"I know enough," she whispers, voice low. "Maybe I'm wrong about everything else. But don't you dare try to argue with me about this; I _know_ he took a fifteen-year-old kid to some petty fight against a team of _superheroes_ , superheroes that very well could've killed the kid. Then, as if he didn't learn his lesson, he let said fifteen-year-old take down an arms dealer, alone. Tell me, Peter, does that sound like something a good dad would do? Like something a good person would do?"

"Wait," Ned says. "Peter, you told her?"

But Peter's face has gone slack and his hands are quivering.

"No."

"Oh," Ned says, looking a little confused, until the realization hits him. " _Oh."_

"Michelle, how, uh, how do, how did you," Peter can't form words in his brain let alone an audible sentence.

"Don't insult my intelligence by asking me how I know. The point is that I do know and the _bigger_ point is that Tony Stark risked your _life_ to win an argument and I won't forgive him for that."

It made sense now. Peter's head stopped spinning for a moment.

"I know it sounds bad, and May was so mad at him for a while too, but he's not—the situation was a lot more complicated than that. Mr. Stark's a lot more complicated than that."

Actually, he thought, _the two of you might have a lot in common, with the whole hiding-emotions-behind-sarcasm thing you do_.

"It doesn't seem that complicated."

He didn't know why this bothered him so much, why he felt this overwhelming _need_ for her to like him.

"I think you should give him a chance," he said, an idea forming. "I think you'd change your mind if you just met him. I'm going over for dinner to celebrate this new tech I helped him with, maybe you could... I mean, if you're not busy, uhm, come with?"

She cocks her head to the side, an incredulous laugh escaping her throat, "you think _I_ want to go-," but she stops at the wounded look on his face.

"I just want you to meet him, and if you hate him after that, that's fine. Please?"

Her eyes rolled all the way to the back of her head, but after a beat she huffed, "fine."

"Peter, I hate Tony Stark too!" Ned exclaimed, lower lip pouted.

"Calm down Ned, you can come over with me this weekend. Tony's going to get an early copy of the new Jurassic Park."

" _Awesome."_

The lunch bell rang, and Michelle slung her shoulder bag across her body.

"Be at my house at 6:30, Parker."

He was at her house at 6:15, wondering why he'd felt the need to take a shower, change his clothes, and spray some on some of that cologne that Stark had given him.

" _Kid, you smell like you just walked out of a gentleman's club_ _circa 1970. Here, take this," grabbing one of several bottles from his own collection before scrunching his nose and dousing it on Peter. "Better."_

He was still smiling at the memory when MJ knocked loudly on his window, nearly causing his head to hit the ceiling. He jumped out of his side of the car, running over to hers and opening the door.

"Think I couldn't handle my own door?" She said, eyes glinting in the waning light.

"No, of course not, May just said," MJ clapped her hand over his mouth.

"I was kidding. I know you're nervous because you ramble when you're nervous. Don't be."

He let out a nervous breath he'd been holding.

"If anything, Stark is the one who should be nervous."

He gulped, suddenly regretting the entire idea, but he put the car in drive and tried not to think about everything that could go wrong.

"Hey Pete," Tony greeted as he walked in the door, "and Pete's plus one."

"It's Michelle," she said coolly.

"She's a friend from school," Peter added, red seeping through his cheeks as Tony glanced between the two of them.

"Right," he said. Peter didn't come over for dinner very often, and it definitely wasn't a habit of his to bring a _girl_ over.

"Well, kid, why don't you show your _friend_ around, and I'm going to go check on the boss lady. Happy should have dinner finished in a few minutes."

Tony vanished up the stairs, looking for Pepper, and MJ whirled around to face Peter.

"You might as well give me the tour."

Peter weaved them through the facility, pointing out rooms as he guided her around, but she didn't care about the state-of-the-art robotics lab or the numerous training centers. She was much more interested in one of Peter's sweatshirts, slung over a chair in the shop, and a quilted blanket that could only have come from May Parker's apartment draped lazily on a couch. She also didn't fail to notice a new Spider-Man suit in one of the labs, clearly being updated and improved, or the newspaper and magazine clippings on the wall—united by a common theme.

They were all about Peter.

A smoke alarm ripped MJ from her observation, the blaring sound followed closely after by a loud string of expletives.

"Happy isn't the greatest cook," Peter explained with a grin, "I'm going to go make sure he's okay, but um, you can keep looking around. I'll be right back."

She wandered a few more halls before a pair of footsteps sounded behind her.

"Any fatalities?" She asked, turning around, but Peter wasn't the one standing there.

"Oh. You're not Peter."

"And you're not Pepper," he replied, following her gaze to the Spider-Man suit.

"It's a new model for one of the Avengers," he answered the silent question.

She eyed Peter's sweatshirt again.

"Peter's been helping you work on it?"

His eyes narrowed for a second, trying to gauge how much to give away.

"Yes. It's good engineering experience and the kid's a genius so it helps my guys too. I consider it a win-win."

"You can quit the BS;" she says, "I know there's no Stark internship."

Tony just rubbed his temples, "for a kid hell-bent on keeping a secret identity, he really is the worst at it."

"What is this, really? Helping him with a new suit, inviting him over for dinner, putting his picture up on the wall? Is this your twisted idea of atonement; does helping him now help you sleep at night for recruiting a _kid_ to fight your battles, for leaving him alone when he could have died?"

"I'm not going to lie to you—mostly because, for a fifteen-year-old, you're oddly terrifying," he says, trying to fend off her biting accusations with feigned aloofness.

She crosses her arms over her chest, seeing right through him.

"Enough with the stalling."

"The short answer? Yes, all of this," he says, motioning to the suit, to Peter's things scattered about, "it does help me sleep at night."

"And the long answer?"

Tony sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. He didn't want to have this conversation with himself, let alone a stranger that looked at him like the only thing standing between Tony and certain death was a kid from Queens with a penchant for dressing up in red spandex.

Maybe it would do him some good to voice his demons.

Or maybe she'd just kill him and he could avoid his problems in the afterlife.

"I screwed up by taking him to Germany. Not because he couldn't handle it—that kid is one of the strongest of all of us—but because it wasn't his battle. He was perfectly content with being that 'Spider-guy from YouTube', helping out the little guy, until I took that away from him and told him he wanted more."

He wanted to stop, to keep it all in, but his hands were sweating now and that dull, fuzzy pain took over his chest. He needed to voice it—not for her, but for himself, for his own sanity.

"I lost sight of a lot of things in the fight with Cap, and maybe it was justified, and maybe it wasn't, but the one thing I'm sure of is that I pulled him into a world that he didn't need to be a part of yet."

 _Inhale; one, two three._

 _Exhale; one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight._

He gripped the sleeve of his shirt, twisted it in his hands, using the motion to rein himself in.

"I spent so much time pretending to be his parent, telling him when and how to use his powers, trying to mold him to me. But he's always been better than me. He showed me that when he turned down my offer to be an Avenger."

The trembling came in waves now, and he bit down on his bottom lip as he leaned against the wall, grounding himself.

"The long answer is that this is me doing the thing I should have done all along: accept Peter for who he is and to be there for him, supporting him in whatever capacity he needs, in whatever form that may take. For some ungodly reason the kid still stands by me, even though, at the end of the day, he deserves more than anything I have to give him. I'm just trying to be better, to be just a _fraction_ of what he sees in me. That's what this is."

MJ had a feeling that Tony Stark wasn't accustomed to baring his soul like he had just done. She felt like an intruder, like she was eavesdropping on his confessional. He looked like a man in desperation, resolute to finish a mission in which he was licked from the start. His eyes were wet and beaten down, and she felt at a loss.

She stayed there for a few minutes longer, until his breathing steadied and the color showed through his cheeks again.

"I still need to find Pepper, but do you want me to walk you to the kitchen?" He said, as if the events of the last ten minutes hadn't happened.

"No, that's okay, I think I'll find my way back."

Michelle found Peter, and a few minutes later Tony and Pepper joined the kids and Happy at the countertop, eating store-bought pizza off of paper plates. He smiled and embarrassed Peter in front of MJ, all signs of his anxiety attack meticulously concealed, looking every bit the self-composed, unflappable billionaire genius that he was.

He was a remarkable showman.

When she was eerily quiet on the way home, a nervous Peter looked over at her.

"Do you still hate him?"

"He's made some big mistakes," she says, and his heart falls.

"But he cares about you a lot. And... I guess that's good enough for me. Besides," she said, a small smile creeping across her face, "everyone loves a good redemption story."


	5. The House Party

**an: okay, I know this has trope has been used and abused, but I like it and this just kinda came to me. Also, I know it's a "five times" story but bc I'm not completely on board with the last chapter, instead of deleting it, I think I'm just going to do an extra chapter. I know I'm breaking the rules, but y'all can fight me later if you want.**

4\. (Alt. Chapter) / The House Party

"Oh hey, Mis'sr Stark...," Peter said, his face flushed, "I didn't know you were gonn'a be here."

A few blocks down, teenagers loitered around a house that was shaking from the bass of some song Tony didn't recognize. He made a mental note to call in a noise complaint later—maybe even show up in the suit and make some kids piss themselves. That Peter had started his night there was glaringly obvious.

Why he was currently alone, his ass parked on the curb and stumbling through basic English, was a mystery.

"Peter, you _called_ me."

The kid started giggling hysterically.

"Okay, that's it. I don't like dealing with drunk adults let alone _children._ Get up; I'm taking you home."

He snorted, looking at Tony like something hilarious had just popped into his head and making no effort to stand up.

"Kid, if you make me get down on the asphalt and drag you into the car, it's not going to be pretty."

"You're bein' kinda _bossy._ "

The last of Tony's patience was quickly dissipating into the night air.

"You're lucky I'm not being kind of _murder-y_ right now. Now get in the car before I ground you for the rest of your life, which, by the way won't be very long if May finds out about the little stunt you're pulling right now."

"Y' can't ground me, 'cause you're not my dad," Peter slurred, eyes blinking rapidly at the man standing in front of him.

"Want to test that theory?"

Peters eyes ballooned to about ten times their original size.

"Wait... are you my dad?"

 _Jesus Fucking Christ._

"No, I meant test the fact that I can ground you, not—," but Peter was laughing again.

"Ned is gonna be _so_ jealous when he finds out Iron Man might be my dad."

Tony gripped his hair, wanting to rip every last strand out of his head.

"Pete, I'm not your dad!"

He might as well have kicked the kid right in the gut judging from the look on Peter's face.

Tony sighed, swallowing his frustration as he sat down on the cement curb next to Peter.

"Look, I didn't mean it like that—," but he stops, nearly choking on the scent emanating from the boy.

"Jesus, kid, how much did you drink?"

Peter looks away guiltily, "I dunno, one or two... maybe three. It's hard to count now," he murmured.

"No way in hell are you this trashed on 'one or two or maybe three'. Try again."

"Okay, okay... like two or three _bottles_ ," he amends sheepishly, and this time Tony's eyes are the ones that nearly bug out of his head.

"Are you _trying_ to kill yourself?"

"N-no," he stutters, "I just... I thought I'd keep drinking until everything stopped being so loud, y'know?"

"And it took you half a liquor store to get to that point? Pete, that much alcohol could put the fucking _Hulk_ in a coma. I should take you to the hospital."

He shook his head violently, "No, no Mr. Stark, m'okay, I promise. My metabolism works faster than ev'rybody else's."

Tony scanned the kid, apprehensive, but Peter didn't look like he needed medical attention. A stern talking-to, however, was in order.

"Fine, no doctors. Yet. But you better start explaining what you're doing hanging out on a curb by yourself in the middle of the night."

"Well I couldn't call Aunt May because she'd be so worried so I tried to fly home but then these thingys," he said, punching his fingers at the web-shooters on his wrist, "wouldn't work so then I started walking and I just got so _tired_ ," Peter said, all in one breath.

"And why did you feel the need to drink yourself into oblivion?"

Peter stared at his feet on the pavement, avoiding Tony's eyes and willing his words to come out coherently.

"Th' other kids were drinking and it looked fun so I wanna'd to try," he said, putting a ridiculous amount of effort into keeping his body upright and not smashing his face in the ground.

The older man squeezed his fists together, trying to remind himself that he was angry at the situation, not the kid.

"You know, for a genius, that's some of the dumbest logic I've ever heard."

Okay, maybe he was a little mad at the kid.

"You're telling me that some idiots throw back a couple of cheap beers and suddenly you get the idea to drink them under the table _twelve times over_?"

"I di-," he stops, putting his hands out to steady himself, "I didn't mean to, but it wasn't working. Ever'thing was still so _loud._ "

Peter winced, as if the volume on the world had just surged again.

"Did you consider asking to turn down the music? Or, even better, I bet your apartment is pretty quiet this time of night."

He couldn't fight the dizziness anymore and tumbled forward abruptly, but Tony was faster, and caught him before he made a permanent indent in the street.

Not wanting a repeat of the incident, he put an arm around Peter's shoulders and held on tightly until the kid looked at him with the saddest eyes he'd seen in a while.

"Not the music. It's the crying and the screaming. Doesn't go away."

Peter's head fell against Tony's shoulder and, instinctively, Tony squeezed him a little bit harder.

"Whose screams, Pete?" But he didn't need to hear his reply to know the answer.

"All th' ones I can't save," he said, hiccupping at the end. When Tony looked over, there were tears streaked down his cheeks.

A minute or two passed as Tony tried to find something reassuring to say, but he couldn't find the right words.

"Why didn't you say anything?" He finally asked, lifting Peter's drooping face to look him in the eyes.

Peter just gave him a sad smile.

"You got enough stuff going on, you don' need my stuff too."

His hand reached up to stroke Peter's hair before he stopped himself.

"Peter, keeping everything bottled up and waiting for the explosion isn't healthy."

"But... you do that all the time."

His eyes rolled to the back of his head.

"Yes, I do, which is exactly my point. Forty years from now, I don't want you to end up like me: not speaking to your friends, constantly sabotaging a relationship with the love of your life, and being a terrible role model to an impressionable kid."

Peter stuck his finger in the air, swaying a bit before he poked Tony right in the chest.

"You're a good role model," Peter argued.

"That's coming from my kid who's so inebriated he can't even sit up by himself. Let's just agree I'm definitely no Steve Rogers."

Tony didn't notice that his thumb had started making circles on Peter's back, or that the words _my kid_ left his mouth. Peter did.

"I always liked Iron Man better than Capt'n America anyway."

Tony laughed.

"Come on, Pete, if I hadn't gotten to you first you'd have kicked my ass in Germany and followed Rogers off into the sunset. Don't delude yourself."

Peter mustered up all the sobriety he had left in him, because he had something important to say and he was determined to say it without collapsing into a heap of drunkenness.

"But Mr. Rogers didn't come find me. You did. You're the only one who didn't look at me like some fragile thing that might break at any second."

"You know, I'd find that a lot more convincing if you didn't smell like the inside of a whiskey barrel," but Tony couldn't hide the smile that snuck onto his face and pulled Peter into him.

"And before you get ideas, this isn't a hug, I'm just worried you might fall over."

Peter smiled into his chest.

"Alcohol isn't a coping mechanism, Pete," he said over the top of the kid's head, turning quietly serious again.

The boy's muffled voice retorted, "Doesn't taste good either."

Then he pulled his head back, feeling much more sober than he had thirty minutes earlier.

"Do we have to tell May?"

Tony sighed.

"Eventually? Yes," Peter winced as Tony continued, "I don't keep secrets from her anymore."

"But we don't have to tell her this second. For right now, let's go grab something to eat and soak up what's left of tonight's bad decisions. We can deal with your aunt and finding some better, _legal_ ways of dealing with trauma in the morning. Okay?"

"Okay," Peter conceded, allowing Tony to walk him to the car.

They stopped at a fast food joint, and Tony ordered three cheeseburgers—one for himself and two for Peter—before making their way to the compound where Tony watched the kid sleep, making sure he didn't choke on his own vomit. He didn't want to have to explain _that_ to May.

Peter woke up in a room he didn't recognize the next morning, a note taped to his forehead.

 _Before you panic and do something stupid—because I'm doubtful you remember much of last night and you seem keen on making stupid decisions—you're at the Avengers facility. May knows you're here (I'll let you decide when to tell her why). Call me when you return to the land of the living, hangovers are one of my (many) areas of expertise._

 _-T.S._

 _(P.S. This room is still yours. There's no mini bar, but I think it'll suffice. Use it whenever you need.)_


	6. The Graduation

**an: so, just to clarify, THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER. I'm having too much fun writing these, so I broke the rules. The next one will be the last one. (sadly).**

5\. / The Graduation

Peter's hands were clammy, and his heart was beating just a little bit too fast.

The auditorium was filling quickly, parents and siblings and extended family members pushing against the throngs of other people to find seats with the best view of their children.

Backstage, the Class of 2019 waited anxiously as teachers called out names and guided the teens into their correct orders.

"Flash Thompson, you're right behind Peter Parker here," their Spanish teacher said, continuing to usher everyone into place.

Peter fiddled with the blue and gold tassel on his cap, wishing that the graduation ceremony had been arranged in alphabetical order instead of according to height.

"Hey, Parker, they spelled your name wrong in the program," Flash said, waving a folded piece of paper in front of him, "they wrote Peter Parker instead of Penis Parker."

He kept his eyes trained forward, ignoring Flash as he scanned the crowd.

May sat in the first row, in one of two seats marked with a sign that read: _Reserved for Family of Valedictorian._

The second seat was empty.

"Earth-to-Parker," Flash said, louder this time, "I'm talking to you."

Flash's gaze followed Peter's, landing on the vacant seat.

"Aw, daddy didn't show?" He cooed, lip pouted exaggeratedly.

"He's not my dad," Peter said, tearing his eyes away from his aunt, sitting all alone.

"No shit. Did you really think that listing him as a _special guest_ would make us actually believe Tony Stark even knows your name? You're an even bigger loser than I thought."

He wanted to tell Flash off, but he couldn't stop thinking about the empty seat. Tony was supposed to be there. He said he'd be there.

"Don't cry Penis, you might ruin your mascara," he taunted, before unexpectedly lurching forward and nearly knocking Peter over in the process.

Peter looked back to see MJ, smirking, her foot having just collided with the back of Flash's knee.

"Michelle," one of the teacher's warned as Flash indignantly brushed off the back of his pants.

"This suit is _Tom Ford_ ," he squawked.

"These shoes are _Payless_ ," she replied, shrugging, "your point?"

"My _point_ is that these pants cost over a thousand dollars and you just got dirt all over them."

"Yea, well, the bottom of my shoe is covered in pretentiousness now so let's call it even."

Peter gave MJ a silent nod that said _thank you_ to which she responded, plenty loud for Flash to hear, "don't pay attention to him. His fragile masculinity is just feeling threatened by the fact that everyone is about to find out you're officially smarter than him."

A couple kids in the back snorted, but everyone snapped to attention and shut up as the band started playing _Pomp and Circumstance._

His hands started sweating again the closer he got to the front of the line. As the boy in front of him walked across the stage, Peter finally caught a glimpse of Ned in the opposite wing and grinned as Ned waved furiously at him from behind the curtain.

On the teacher's cue, Peter walked out under the bright lights, meeting Ned at center stage for their signature handshake before continuing down the aisle together.

As they processed, the principal's voice boomed out from a podium beside the stage.

"Peter Parker is the son of the late Richard and Mary Parker and nephew of the late Benjamin Parker, and is represented tonight by his guardian May Parker and special guest Anthony Stark."

He kept his eyes trained on his shoes as he made his way to his seat, relieved when the principal continued to Ned's introduction.

His eyes flitted between Ned, whose chair was opposite him, and the first row where Tony's presence was still absent. Despite both May's and Ned's reassuring glances, Peter's heart sank as the last of his classmates finished their procession.

The first half of the ceremony passed in a blur. The principal offered a charismatic welcome to the family and friends in the audience, a few faculty members spoke on behalf of the class, and a distinguished alumnus gave a heartwarming speech, but Peter hardly heard anything.

 _He's a busy man,_ Peter tried to remind himself. He should've known better than to think Tony Stark—billionaire businessman and actual superhero—had the time to attend his stupid little graduation.

He felt stupid for actually listing Tony as a special guest and broadcasting to the entire crowd just how pathetic he was. Flash would probably frame that damn program and show it to his grandchildren. _You're an even bigger loser than I thought._

To make matters worse, his speech was nearing, and his nerves had kicked into overdrive.

The audience clapped as the alumnus exited the stage, and the principal returned to the podium to distribute diplomas.

An agonizing hour passed as each name was called up to receive the leather-bound certificate and shake hands with the faculty.

As the last student exited the stage and returned to his seat, the principal returned to the podium to introduce the Valedictorian.

Just then, a slightly disheveled man with red-tinted glasses apologetically squeezed past May and, passing her a small bouquet of flowers, assumed the seat next to her. His gray suit—no doubt even more expensive than Flash's—was stained at the knees with what looked like a mixture of grease and dirt.

 _He was probably just working on some things in the shop and lost track of time_ , Peter thought, ignoring the twinge of hurt that came along with the idea. _At least he made it._

"Our final speaker for this evening is a young man who embodies our school's philosophy: to take everything we know and flip it inside out, to turn facts into questions, and ideas into realities. Mr. Parker has not only achieved academic excellence, but through his internship with Stark Industries, he has proven himself to be one of the most innovative minds to walk through our school. Please give a warm welcome to Midtown's Valedictorian for the Class of 2019, Mr. Peter Parker."

His stomach was churning, and his legs wobbled as he stood up from his seat and walked to the front of the stage.

He wouldn't even be up here if May hadn't given him an ultimatum—keep his grades up, or no more patrolling. He'd still be sitting comfortable in his seat, perhaps cheering on Ned as he spoke, if Tony hadn't started taking him to conventions, showing off his achievements in the lab.

He'd give anything to be in his suit right now, hidden from the hundreds of people now, awaiting his words of wisdom.

Ned was grinning at him like the proud best friend he was, and even MJ couldn't hold back a smile.

In the front row, May snapped a picture before giving him a thumbs up.

Next to her, Tony removed his glasses and with a look of utter sincerity, lacking any of his distinctive sarcasm, mouthed, _"Knock 'em dead."_

And then it was just him and the microphone.

"Some of you may know this already, but over the past few years, I've had the incredible opportunity to intern for Stark Industries."

Through the side of his field of vision, Peter caught Flash rolling his eyes.

"And one of the perks of being there, besides the science of course," the audience gave a laugh, "is getting to work with one of my heroes."

"When I was little, I _lived_ in my Iron Man costume. It used to drive my aunt and uncle insane, because I'd run around and wreak havoc on our little apartment with my imaginary hand-repulsors. They'll always be my first heroes, for taking me in, supporting me, and teaching me to never settle, to never be afraid to reach for more. They were just ordinary people who, even in a time of crisis, refused to back away from a challenge. And believe me when I say that I was a challenge."

As the audience laughed again, Peter caught May dabbing at the corner of her eye, despite her attempt to hide behind her camera.

"Not only did I get to _live_ with two of my heroes, but three years ago I walked home from school to find Tony Stark himself sitting on my couch, choking down my aunt's horrendous cooking. I love you, May, but cooking has never been one of your superpowers."

Peter took a breath, anxiety catching him again, but May nodded encouragingly and he continued.

"I think most kids my age loved Iron Man so much because he drove fancy cars and had this super awesome suit and he could even fly. And yes, I'd be lying if I wasn't also fascinated with all of that—because I definitely was—but it was more than that. Mr. Stark wasn't born with some crazy magical powers. He wasn't born a superhero. He _made_ himself one. When the only two choices he had were to give in to the bad guys or die, he created a third one. He used the only things he had at his disposal—ingenuity and some scraps of metal, and in that moment, his _mind_ was his superpower."

"It took me a while to realize that my real hero wasn't Iron Man—but the man who created him. He showed me the same thing my aunt and uncle did, that ordinary people can become heroes. That when the world is telling you there's not an option—you have to make one. You have to be your own hero. He saw a world of possibilities in a pile of garbage and acted on it. To me, that's more inspiring than any other superhero I've had the chance to meet. He didn't need to be a god, or injected with super serum, or bitten by some radioactive spider. He proved that ordinary people like you and me can be so much more than that. I'm not saying I'm going to be the newest member of the Avengers," he said, as the auditorium smiled, "I don't think I'm really built for that. But I do believe, and I hope you all do too, that we all have it in ourselves to become heroes. You all," he said, turning to his classmates, "are some of the smartest people I have ever met, it's ridiculous. And if there's one thing I hope for all of us, it's that we never settle. When we come across a situation with no good options, I hope that we are brave enough to engineer a new one. We aren't locked into the world we think we know. There's always more out there. Let's promise to never be afraid to reach for more. Congratulations, Class of 2019."

The audience cheered as Peter's classmates got on their feet and tossed their caps in the air.

The teens processed off the stage, diplomas in hand, and disappeared into the auditorium to meet their families.

May nearly tackled him with a hug before pushing his shoulders back to look at his face.

"I'm so, so proud of you. You were great up there. I wish Rich and Mary and Ben could have been here to see it," she beamed, pulling him in for another hug.

Ned came over and hugged him too, while May snapped a million pictures.

" _Dude_ , why couldn't you have given a speech like that while we were still in high school?!"

Peter snorted, "Shut up."

"Not bad, Parker," Michelle said, towering over Peter in her heels—shoes he never thought he'd catch her dead in.

He glowed bright red when May pushed them together for a picture, his arm placed delicately around her waist.

He nearly died when she kissed him, in the middle of the auditorium, with his aunt and her camera two feet away and his best friend cackling in the background.

" _May,_ " he groaned when the flash went off.

"Pete, on your wedding day, you're going to thank me for that," she winked, before hugging Michelle and congratulating her.

She took a few more pictures of all three of them together before Ned and MJ left to find their respective families and Peter was finally able to breathe again.

"Hey, May, did you see where Mr.-," he started, as his aunt nudged her head to the corner where Tony stood, doing his best to remain patient as teenagers and their parents swarmed him. Flash was at the front of the crowd.

Peter made his way over, but didn't want to fight his way through the throng of fans trying to get a picture with him.

Tony was thankful when he caught sight of the kid.

"Alright, that's all for the autographs today. You can get in touch with my manager if you want another meet-and-greet, he loves talking to people."

Peter laughed under his breath as Tony passed out Happy's personal cell number while he pushed through to see his kid.

"Hey," he said, not even hesitating before wrapping his arms around the boy's shoulders and holding him there.

"I'm sorry I was late," Tony apologized when he finally pulled away, "there was somebody on the side of the road with a blown transmission. I wanted to just drive by but I kept hearing some kid's voice in my head telling me I needed to help. So, congratulations, you've officially replaced Cap as my conscience."

"Thanks for coming," Peter whispered quietly, suddenly feeling embarrassed about explaining his man-crush on Mr. Stark to an entire auditorium.

"Oh, kid, I wouldn't have missed it for the world," he said, and Peter could've sworn that, behind his glasses, there was a hint of glassiness in his eyes.

"Here," Tony handed him a manila envelope, "I got you a little graduation gift."

Inside was a certificate that Peter was positive he wasn't reading correctly.

"Mr. Stark-,"

"It's a share of my company. Well, Pepper's company technically, but you know, my name's still on the door. You're a partial owner now, officially."

Peter was at a loss.

"M-most people just give out like gift cards or something... I-I can't accept this."

"Pete, you deserve this. It's not enough to live on, but if you ever want a job, you've got one there, too. Just say the word."

He just stood in stunned silence.

"Oh," Tony added, as if he'd just remembered something he'd forgotten, "I talked to M.I.T. today—good choice, by the way—and there's a new scholarship. The Benjamin Parker scholarship. It'll go to you, of course, these first few years, and after that it will be granted annually to kids like you."

"...kids like me?"

"Yes. Brilliant, passionate, scrappy, selfless. Kids who aren't afraid to look out for the little guy and push some boundaries."

Peter was silent again, trying to absorb the weight of everything Tony had just said.

"Mr. Stark, I don't know what to say. Thank you."

"No, Pete. Thank _you_."

"For what?"

"For seeing a hero in me when no one else did," Tony smiled sadly.

"Yea, well, you did the same for me," Peter replied, and this time he was the one who initiated the hug.

A camera flashed.

" _May._ "

"Someday, Peter," she smiled, "someday."


	7. The End Game

**an: alright... so this chapter is long. Like, we went from Iron Man run-time to Infinity War run-time long. Read: so it took a long ass time to write. Also, I know I already added an extra chapter but, like, I like this story? So I might do one more like ++1, and it's gonna be so fluffy you might mistake it for cotton candy. Thoughts?**

+1 / The End Game

For a moment, the world didn't obey the laws of time.

Everything happened in a blink-and-you'd-miss it instant, too fast for anyone to even react.

One second he was up and fighting.

And the next he was down.

The comms were silent for an agonizing second; then, everyone was reacting all at once.

"Stark?" Sam spoke first, desperately scanning his surroundings as the man dropped off his radar.

"No," screamed Banner, fully hulked out, tossing cars and pieces of buildings aside to get to the area where his friend had fallen.

"Tony, talk to us," came Steve's nervous response, trying to locate the red and gold armor amid the field of debris.

A broken, "Tones?" was all Rhodey could manage, terror gripping tightly at his voice.

"Come on, Stark," Clint pleaded.

"Dammit, Stark, for once in your life I'm _begging_ you to just say something," Nat breathed, heart pounding as she continued to fend off whatever these things were that they were fighting.

They had just gotten everyone back, gloriously alive and whole. Five of the six infinity stones rested with the good guys. Fate was on their side.

Whatever God or being or thing controlled the universe clearly wanted them to win. They deserved the happy ending after the horrors of the past few months, deserved a good-triumphs-over-evil type of story.

The hero wasn't supposed to plummet, lifeless, into the concrete this time.

The comms buzzed, everyone talking over one another in a jumbled cacophony of cursing and shock and poorly masked panic.

Everyone except for the teenager from Queens. He was jarringly silent.

Peter had seen this happen before.

The first time, when he saw the plane that carried his parents drop out of the air on the evening news.

The second, when Ben's limp body crumpled to the ground.

The third and fourth and umpteenth times were in his nightmares, as the people he loved toppled down over and over and over again. There was nothing he could do except stand and scream—frozen and desperate and helpless—when they never got back up.

And now he watched as Tony Stark fell in a dead heap right out of the sky, giving a new, gut-wrenching connotation to the term _fallen hero._

Peter was the one with eyes on Thanos first, at the top of what was left of the Stark Tower, nursing the remnants of his gauntlet. He'd had been substantially weakened by the loss of the infinity stones, but he still clung to one—the soul stone.

This was the end game.

The Avengers came to life in New York. They became a team inside Stark Tower. It was a fitting site for their finale.

Tony didn't see him until it was too late.

Before he could even tell Peter to stop, to wait for support, the kid was webbing himself up the side of the building.

Tony called for backup, powering his dying thrusters, pushing himself upward, his body rigid. He couldn't lose the kid. Not again.

When Tony finally had Peter in his sight, his face contorted.

He wasn't fighting.

His mask was off, leaving his brown eyes exposed to plead and bargain with the purple giant in an act that was so _Peter_ that it made Tony's heart skip a beat.

He was doing the one thing Tony loved most about him: refusing to give up. Finding something worth salvaging in something everyone else had deemed beyond repair.

For a second, it almost worked.

"You can still walk out of this, we just need the stone," he begged, his bare face streaked with sweat and crusted blood.

Thanos was still for a second, surveying the chaos below. His plan had failed. The lost souls had all returned, and in trying to spare the world from destruction, he had desolated it.

"I-," he started, face twisted, his heavy sense of purpose pushing him to listen to the kid and just give in.

He almost looked sad when shook his head heavily and said, "I can't. I've lost too much to turn back now."

Thanos' fist was raised before Tony had time to think. His body screamed as every last bit of power was channeled into slamming into the gauntlet, the single stone gleaming from its knuckle, before it could crush Peter.

There was a flash of bright, blinding energy, and then darkness.

Peter was soaring down to the ground before he even registered the nauseating clank of metal on pavement. He heard the crunching of Tony's bones against his own armor. He felt the thumping of Tony's heartbeat rapidly decelerate into nothing more than a fleeting murmur.

Then Peter heard nothing at all, as the world was reduced to terrifying silence because he was only listening to Tony, and Tony wasn't making a sound.

No screaming. No gasping for life. Not even a breath.

"Mr. Stark, come on, get up. It's not over," he said, tugging uselessly on the man's arm.

Sickening déjà vu took hold of Peter, the events around him appearing motionless, like someone had pressed the pause button. He existed in limbo, his movements taking place between strides, between breaths, between punches.

"A war zone isn't exactly the place to get dramatic, Mr. Stark," he said, trying and failing to wake the man up.

"If you wanted me to carry you, you could've just asked, you know. I know you don't like to admit that I'm stronger than you—I mean I am stronger—but I wouldn't hold it against you," he was smiling—almost laughing—because the situation was a funny joke and not reality. It had to be.

"Hey, FRIDAY, Mr. Stark is being a little difficult, think you could help?"

The AI said nothing, but obligingly overrode the protocols on the suit and lifted the Iron Man mask.

Peter blinked, positive that the next time he opened his eyes there would be color in Tony's face. A line of blood dribbled from the corner of Tony's mouth, looking like crimson ink on a sheet of bleach-white paper.

He ran his hand across the gold-titanium suit, searching for a heartbeat under the metal. When he couldn't find one, he got closer, placing his ear over the soft, dying light of the arc reactor.

"FRIDAY," Peter choked, unable to finish his sentence, but the AI was smart—of course she was, she was a part of Tony—and opened up the rest of the suit without Peter even having to ask.

He noticed the sharp angles of Tony's ribs, pressing against his skin in an irregular alignment. His abdomen was covered in a watercolor pattern of angry red and dark purple as blood oozed into his stomach cavity.

He didn't have much time, he had to get Tony out of the city before more _things_ came to attack or he bled out. He wasn't sure which would come first.

"It's not that bad, it's not that bad," he whispered to himself on repeat, desperately, not sure if he was trying to convince Tony or FRIDAY or himself.

Thanos broke his trance, finally descending on Peter with a look that was equal parts pity and regret as the kid sprawled over Tony defensively.

"He tried so hard to be invincible, but he was only a man. This is where being a hero ends, child," he said, motioning to the lifeless man on the ground, "you gave me an option to walk away, and in the name of balance, I'm going to give you the same."

Peter winced as the frenzied reactions of the other Avengers flooded the comms, Stark's silence and its dark implication freezing an iciness into their veins.

" _Stark."_

" _No."_

" _Tony, talk to us."_

" _Tones."_

" _Come on, Stark."_

" _Dammit Stark, for once in your life I'm_ begging _you to just say something."_

The harshness of the battle came blaring back. Metal on metal, bricks on asphalt, the roar of weapons being fired at aliens that only seemed to multiply.

Amid punches and grunts, the superheroes pushed through to their fallen leader, their breaths collectively hitching when they saw Thanos looming over the kid. Behind him Stark laid, unmoving, on the ground.

"I'm not leaving him," Peter challenged, arms flared in front of Tony possessively.

"Child, this is the last chance I'm going to give you. Don't mistake foolishness for heroism."

"He was always the hero," Peter whispered, standing taller, "and I told you I'm not leaving."

"Your blind loyalty is endearing," Thanos said flatly, "but entirely ignorant. I have great respect for Tony Stark. His strength of will is fascinating, especially for a mortal. But your devotion to something so ephemeral, so insignificant in relation the complexity and vastness of the universe is nothing more than childish naïveté. No man is worth dying for."

The giant stepped closer, his steps rattling the ground, but Peter didn't falter.

"He didn't think so."

Thanos laughed, "and that is his weakness. He's dead because of it. Now child, tell me, do you think you were worth that?"

Peter's knees buckled under the weight of his statement. Tony was dead. Because of him, Tony was _dead_.

The rest of the team began pouring onto the scene, aliens lapping at their heels.

They divided themselves instinctively, most of them going to form a wall around Stark and the kid.

Despite their combined efforts, however, with everyone in one spot, the teeth-baring aliens were quickly surrounding them.

The Hulk slammed down on Thanos himself, taking him to ground before the green monster was rolled onto his back and sent skidding into a mess of cars and rubble. Thor moved to help him, swinging his axe at the purple giant, followed closely by Captain America.

"Kid, I need you in the air, it's too dangerous on the ground," Rogers said tightly, looking at Peter—still frozen next to Tony—like he might break at any second.

A furious passion dispersed throughout his entire body. He would not, physically could not, stand by as another parent died. Not again.

"All due respect, Captain, but I barely listen to _him_ ," he stressed, looking at the man lying helplessly on the ground, his eyes brimming with hot tears and an angry rage. "I can't let him die like this. I'm getting that stone."

Before Steve could protest, Peter Parker flung himself into the giant, making contact with his horrendous chin before hurling himself at him again.

"Your efforts are useless. The stone is bound to me by my sacrifice," Thanos bellowed, "a soul for a s-," his monologue was cut short by Thor's axe being lodged into his gut. The giant grunted, ripping the weapon out and letting the dead weight drop to the ground, shaking Peter off of him in the process.

 _A soul for a soul._

He had an idea.

Captain America watched, stunned, as Peter lifted the huge hunk of metal from the ground like it was a toy.

"The _juvenile_ is wielding my axe," Thor stuttered, his cry causing a few of the other Avengers to turn their heads for a split second.

"You took something from me," Peter heaved, firing a web at a nearby building to gain momentum, swinging the blade above his head, "and now I'm taking something of yours."

There was a blur of red and blue and gold as Peter flew across the air, the axe cracking right into Thanos' knuckle, and then a blast of orange light lit up the sky.

The aliens dropped to the ground where they stood, and Thanos stumbled backwards before he too fell in a heap, the last of the power from the infinity stones finally stripped from him.

And Peter, Peter just looked _so small._ The burst had thrown him nearly twenty feet, and he was coiled into a ball on the ground, trembling.

Rhodes and Steve made it over to him first, Cap's heart dropping when he checked for breathing, as the kid could only inhale in short, shallow breaths, and they were becoming fewer and farther apart by the second.

Mantis stepped forward slowly to read his emotions, but jumped back suddenly as if she'd been burned, her face warped.

"He lives, but he is in agony. He feels immense loss," she said, taking a deep breath before gathering the courage to step toward the boy again, "he grieves... he grieves for his father."

And then a dozen superheroes watched, horrified, as the child turned to ash.

Peter woke up to a dim sunset and water pooling around his ankles. He remembered this place.

"Hey, kid," Tony whispered, appearing in front of him.

His eyes dilated, still red and swollen, and he blinked once. Then twice.

When Tony didn't disappear, he collapsed into him, sending both of them tumbling into the water.

There were no words, just wet tears and broken sobs as Tony wrapped his arms around Peter, holding him securely, like his arms were the only thing keeping Peter from floating away.

"I'm so proud of you, Pete," he pulled tighter, Peter's head burrowing into his chest, "and I don't have a lot of time, so I'm going to make this quick."

Peter's shallow breaths were hoarse, occasionally interrupted by his garbled blubbering.

"I didn't have much of a dad when I was growing up, and he didn't do the whole expressing affection thing. I never knew he even cared about me until he actually said it, post-mortem, in a video—after I was sufficiently old and emotionally debilitated. I don't want to make the same mistake with you."

"Even though I know I'm only about three percent responsible for how you turned out... Pete, I'm incredibly lucky for getting to be a part of your life, and I'm ridiculously, obnoxiously proud of the person you are. You are everything I ever wanted to be. Bless Rhodey's little heart, because he has to listen to me brag about you all the time."

"You're our future, kid. When I think of what's coming next... all I see is _you_. You're going to be at the forefront of a new era, ushering in the change that this world needs, and someday you're going to blow us all away."

Teardrops clung to the tips of Tony's eyelashes, soaking into Peter's hair as he rested his cheek on the top of the boy's head.

Peter was sniffling now, pulling back slightly and smearing the back of his hand as he tried, unsuccessfully, to wipe away the snot.

"B-but, you're going to be there too, r-right? I _h-have_ you now and I-I-I c-can't let g-go," he wheezed, hiccups raking through his chest.

"I'm sorry," Tony whispered, and Peter searched his eyes, which were just as red and speckled with tears as his own.

He was hyperventilating now, his breaths coming out in raggedy staccato notes.

"No," he pleaded desperately.

"You can't stay here," Tony explained, but Peter couldn't accept that. He couldn't come this close and just leave Tony all over again. The anger and frustration and overwhelming _unfairness_ squeezed at his chest and strangled at his throat.

"You shouldn't even be here. You _shouldn't have_... you should've just... _why_?" His words had the soundness of a toddler's, and were muddled even further by his unrestrained cries.

"Pete, you gave me something to fight for, to protect—someone to _love_ —even after I thought I thought I'd lost everything. If I can know... if the way they remember me is by seeing _you,_ then that's more than enough for me. My solace only comes from knowing that you'll be able to take over for me. You'll be a better hero than I ever could. I can't defend the people I love forever; I can't defend Earth forever, but you have the ability to make sure they outlive me after I'm gone. I have absolute faith in you."

Flecks of red spattered his vision and he didn't even realize it, but his hands were pounding against Tony's chest.

"Sh, Pete, it's okay, you're okay," Tony soothed, pulling Peter in again, wrapping his arms around him like a restraint until the boy stopped fighting and went slack in his arms.

"I don't want to go, don't make me _go_ , I c-can't lose my d-dad again, Mr. Stark, I _can't_."

Both of them were shaking, their hearts throbbing in a miserable harmony.

Peter was seeing the bright orange light again.

" _Tony_ ," he cried desperately.

"I love you, kid," was his response.

And then he let go.

Peter appeared, quivering, next to Starks' motionless body.

"How-," Nat asked, but Quill was talking over her.

"Guys... did we just win?"

The team snapped over to him, where Thanos' body had been, but all that was left was a puff of dust.

"I'm giving up on trying to understand how these stupid stones work," Clint muttered.

Peter wasn't listening to anyone, though, because the familiar rhythm of a heartbeat was pulsating under his fingertips.

Tony's eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the light. When he could finally see, about fifteen costumed adults were staring down at him.

Everyone reacted all at once, reaching for the pair, a million questions on their tongues.

"Oh, good God, take me back. It was so much quieter there," Tony groaned, still laying in the bed of metal that was his suit.

"You sacrificed yourself. That's why I could separate him from the stone," Peter mumbled.

"Actually, that makes quite a lot of sense...," Strange began.

"Hey, doc? I know you have a degree in, like, witchcraft and voodoo and shit, but the rest of us barely graduated high school so can we stop pretending that any of this actually makes sense? Stark made a boom, then the little punk kid made a boom, and now the big purple guy is gone."

Strange frowned as if to argue with Wilson, then decided against it.

Besides, the only people anyone was paying attention to were Tony and the sniveling kid draped across his chest like a parasite.

"Hey, pal, you know that I literally just saw you, right? It was this kinda this whole big thing, we had a nice chat-," Tony tried to smirk, but Peter just cinched tighter around him.

And despite Tony's best efforts to appear steady and composed in front of his team, no one missed the wet sheen pooling at his lower lashline.

"Okay, Pete, since you seem keen on staying glued to me, how about you at least help your old man up," Tony grunted, trying to reach for Peter's hand.

"Tony, that might not be the best idea," about three people argued all at once.

In seconds, Strange was on the ground, lightly nudging Peter aside as he felt the man for broken bones and lifting his shirt to survey for internal injuries.

"Easy, wizard, there are kids around," Tony provoked, though it came out breathy and laced with pain.

He waited for the doctor's sharp retort, for someone to laugh, but it didn't come. The only thing that met him was a sweeping darkness.

When the light finally came back it was bright and white.

Across the room a makeshift couch—just some chairs pushed together—held a snoring Peter, sandwiched between his aunt and Tony's fiancé.

His head was leaned against May's shoulder, one of his arms propped under his forehead while the other arm was stretched toward the woman on the other side of him, a hand closed tightly around hers.

Tony shifted in his bed, the movement causing the stiff sheets to rustle against his body, and Peter's head shot up frantically.

"Calm down, crazy-eyes, it's just me."

"Sorry," he said a little too loudly, quickly realizing that two of the room's co-inhabitants were still very much asleep. He lifted himself gently before hurriedly crossing the room.

"My, uh, senses have been a little touchy lately. Anxiety, I think." The kid was squirming, fidgeting against his wrinkled clothes and pulling at the greasy, tangled mop of hair on top of his head.

"Pete, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I was just—worried, you know? Because you died, and then you were alive again and then we _thought_ you died again but you were just really injured and then you almost died in surgery and then... oh my god, what am I doing, are _you_ okay?"

He grimaced, "Pete, breathe. Yes, I'm fairly certain I'm going to live, unfortunately."

Peter nodded, but his hands were rubbing up and down the sides of his pant legs fretfully.

"Hey," he said softly, sliding his body over a few inches before pointedly looking at the vacancy he'd created, "sit."

The boy obeyed, but sat as close to the edge as possible, fiddling nervously with his hands in his lap. He was turned away from Tony, obscuring his face from the man's view.

"Pete, look at me. Please."

It took a second, but eventually he scooted a bit closer and rotated his body, and Tony realized why he'd been hiding.

Peter forced a smile, wiping his eyes with his fingertips.

"I'm right here, kid. I'm not going anywhere," he reassured, patting the kid's leg lightly.

Peter bit his lip and inhaled sadly. "You can't promise that."

Tony hated that the kid was right, that as much as he wanted to, he couldn't promise him anything. He'd cheated death so many times already that each new dangerous encounter had to be at least ten times more likely to claim his life than the last.

"I don't want to lose you," the boy whispered, swallowing thickly.

Tony lifted himself up, straining against the wires connected to his chest and arms, to gently rest a hand on Peter's shoulder.

"It's unfair, really. I was kind of banking on my speech in the soul world to be my last hurrah. You were supposed to hear that in some kind of kickass inner, montage-y soliloquy right at the make-or-break moment. I've had it in my back pocket for months now, because I'm nothing if not prepared."

When Peter said nothing, Tony leaned his head back against the wall of pillows and sighed.

"Look, what I'm trying to say is that I'm off-script now. And... you're right, I can't promise you that I'm going to be around forever."

At this, Peter's sniffles became more rapid, convulsing through his chest, and Tony had to look away.

"But I can promise that I meant what I said earlier. I'm proud of you. You mean so much to me," he said, looking anywhere but the kid's bloodshot eyes, "and from now on I'm going to start saying those things more often, because maybe this whole... situation... is someone's twisted way of telling me that I need to embrace this role, with you, and not try to push it away. But, God, Pete, the idea of—of being _that_ person for you—it terrifies me."

"I'm sorry," Peter whispered, but Tony shook his head vigorously.

"Kid, stop that. You've got nothing to be sorry for," he said, patting the unoccupied piece of bed closer to his side.

Peter stared at Tony before gently sliding into the space that he'd left for him, feeling the wall of pillows against his back and letting it ground him.

When he finally calmed down some, he started talking again. "No, I mean... you know, what I said earlier," the cadence of his voice quickly increased again, rushing the words together, "I didn't... I mean _I did_ but you don't—it doesn't have to mean, I'm just, uh," at this point he was spitting out near-incoherent syllables, and Tony stopped him with a hand over his mouth.

"Pete, breathe."

The kid closed his eyes and took a breath in, feeling it all the way in his diaphragm before releasing it.

"I know you know that I kind of called you dad."

Tony raised his eyebrow at him. "Perhaps."

"Does that freak you out? Because in my defense I thought you were _dying_ and I was scared and, and I just needed to tell you in case... you know. But I can take it back, if it's going to make this weird."

Tony's hands habitually massaged his temples, nursing the headache that resulted from Peter's practice of shoving twelve different thoughts into one barely intelligible aggregate.

"First—maybe we need to get you in to see someone about this anxiety thing. Which is completely fine, and normal, but it's killing me to see you like this." His hand left his head to rest soothingly on Peter's arm.

"Second—yes it freaks me out, but it's not because I don't want this. I just—linear algebra and thermodynamics and particle physics... all of those are easier to wrap my brain around than this whole 'dad' thing."

Peter managed a weak laugh, because he didn't believe him for a second.

He sat on Tony's bed, ingrained into the man's side, where Tony's arm had moved from just resting on Peter's to enveloping his shoulders, and Peter didn't fight his embrace.

"I know you'll never admit it... but I think it kinda comes naturally to you."

Tony snorted. "Yea, well, that's just years of practice in looking cool under pressure." Except he looked anything but cool in that room, lips pressed tightly together in an attempt to pull himself together. Being open and vulnerable—with anyone—was never his talent, and he missed his sunglasses.

Thankfully, his face was safely obscured from Peter's view and he hid the way his fingers trembled by messing with Peter's curls.

"If it makes you feel better, I don't have to call you dad. It feels weird anyway. The whole 'mom' and 'dad' thing was a concept that I never really got to use and it's just... kind of foreign, I guess." He glanced across the room at his aunt, still asleep on her portion of the chair.

Tony followed his gaze.

"She's been there for as long as I can remember and I've never called her 'mom'. It feels like forcing something we've never needed. She knows who she is, to me," he said, casting an affectionate look at the woman, her face hidden under frizzy, three-day-old curls, "...and I just hope that you know what you mean to me, too."

Peter felt the way Tony's heart pumped a little faster in his chest, how he was breathing purposefully slow.

Tony raised his hand to his mouth, biting the edge of his thumbnail, his index finger moving against his cheek. "You know, I had this dream—right before this whole shit storm started—where I had a kid. It was so vivid that I had to tell Pep about it because... I was so sure that it was real. And then I was on that donut ship headed straight into the star-studded abyss and all I could think about was how twisted it was that, after being haunted by the idea for years, I was finally ready to be a dad—and I was going to be robbed of the chance. I've never been that scared to die before."

His hand dropped from his mouth to his lap as he bit his tongue and looked to the ceiling, inhaling steadily. He laughed drily, "When I held my baby, I could see its little face, looking at me with all the trust in the world—like I could do no wrong. I've never felt that overwhelming sense of responsibility before, and I didn't think I'd ever feel it again. And then your rebellious, teenaged ass disobeyed my orders and collapsed in my arms and your stupid little lamb face stared up at me and that beautiful and horrible feeling came flooding back. When you were gone, I felt that. I'll always remember the feeling. _That_ was real."

"Maybe I'll have a baby or two someday, and you'll be right there, stealing its little heart and helping Pepper keep me sane. Or maybe that's not in the cards for an old guy like me. Whatever happens, though, I've made my peace. At the end of the day I already have this horribly danger-prone handful of a kid that follows me around unconditionally, reminds me of a tinier, better version of myself, and is single-handedly my greatest source of pride _and_ gray hair. It doesn't matter what you call me, you've always been my kid."

They let the quiet fill the room for a few seconds, listening to gentle rhythm of snores from across the room.

Peter's small voice was the first to break the silence. "Do I really remind you of you?"

"All the time."

"I feel so fulfilled right now," he said lightly, and Tony could just picture the stupid grin that must've been eating his face. But he was grateful, because he knew Peter was taking the emotional weight off the situation—telling Tony he had heard him while distracting him from the exposed vulnerability he had just displayed.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves; some people would say that's not a good thing."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Yea, well, _I_ think it's the greatest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"You don't have to be a kiss ass now just because I almost died," Tony said, but the twinkle of a smile lit his eyes.

"Mhm," was Peter's answer, a yawn slipping past his lips.

"Alright, kiddo, no more talking. Time to get some sleep."

"Ha, m'not leavin'," he tried to say assertively, but another exhausted yawn took over.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Yea, I'm aware. I know you better than that," he said, pulling the crumpled sheet and thick, surplus blanket over Peter's legs, "that's why I didn't tell you leave, I told you to _sleep._ "

He tried to protest, but he was more exhausted than he let on because within minutes the heaviness of his head was nested into Tony's chest, lulled to sleep and comforted by the steady measure of his heartbeat.

When May woke up, bleary-eyed and dazed, to the scene in front of her, she quickly shook the woman next to her.

Peter was drooling into Tony's chest, shrouded by the man's arms, while Tony's cheek rested lazily on the top of Peter's head.

They snored in perfect time with the each other, as May and Pepper shared a chuckle and a knowing glance.

 _Like father, like son._


	8. The Third Sunday in June

**an: this week has been so long and terrible and I just needed some light in my life so I wrote this, because I love you guys and y'alls support of this story makes me so happy and I just kinda need that right now. So here's the (for real this time) last chapter of this fic. 100% fluff.**

+1.5 / The Third Sunday in June

They both knew what day it was—the third Sunday in June.

Father's Day.

Peter usually spent Father's Day alone. It sounded sad, but his parents had passed when he was young enough that he'd never really established any meaningful connection to the holiday, so it didn't really feel as though he was missing out. After all, it was hard to miss something you never really had.

Howard Stark was so distant—mentally and physically. It didn't matter if he was thousands of miles away on a business trip or a few hundred feet away in his shop; he was never _really_ there. Tony made his peace with it. If his dad wasn't around he wasn't going to cry about it, it was just the way things were. But it did make for a rather lackluster Father's Day.

Needless to say, it was an unfamiliar holiday for both of them.

Somewhere along the way, though, Tony and Peter had taken to spending the day together. It started with the cherry-red Porsche. Then, perhaps by chance or maybe by some subconscious desire on both sides, they spent the same day together the following year. And then the one after that.

Before they realized what was happening, it had become a tradition.

Still, they'd never voice the fact that it was Father's Day. It was just a random day that they happened to spend together. Annually.

But it was just a coincidence and nothing more. It couldn't be more than that, because if it was, they'd have to address a relationship that was still hard for them to put a label on. It was easier this way.

And then Peter broke their unspoken rules.

They were sprawled on Tony's extremely expensive couch, sharing half of Peter's less expensive blanket.

Peter yawned as the end credits scrolled across the screen.

Tony had fallen asleep about halfway through the movie, his head slumped awkwardly against the armrest. Peter prodded at him until he fluttered his eyelids open.

"Mr. Stark?"

The man finally lifted his shoulders off the couch, sitting up lazily as he regained his bearings.

"You missed the best part," Peter chastised, another yawn escaping his lips.

Tony snorted. "I've watched that movie at least a dozen times with you. I think I could recite the whole thing by now." He lifted his watch up to his face, straining to read it in the darkened room.

"Alright, kiddo, it's past my bedtime," he said, slowly standing up and starting for the stairs, "I'll see you in the morning."

"Wait—before you go," Peter rummaged in his bag, retrieving a red envelope.

"I, uhm, saw this and May thought it was so cute and that I should... here," he finally managed, practically shoving the thing into Tony's hands, "goodnight!"

He tried to leave before his mentor noticed that his face was flaming red, but Tony grabbed his arm, effectively thwarting his escape.

"What's this?" He dropped the kids arm to examine the item in his hand.

The boy rolled nervously between the balls of his feet and his heels. "You know, you're right. It's getting late. I should probably go to bed. Gotta get my full eight hours and all that."

"Pete," Tony said, but the kid had already darted from the room.

He ran his thumb under the envelopes seal, revealing a red and white card with a Superman logo on the front and the words " _Not All Heroes Wear Capes"._

He flipped it open. " _Happy Father's Day to my favorite superhero."_

Underneath the type-written font was a familiar messy handwriting.

" _Capes are overrated. (Besides, the gold-titanium suit is way cooler.) –Peter P."_

Tony coughed suddenly, attempting to release the heaviness that was settling on his chest.

A few feet away, a floorboard creaked.

"I can see you, kid," he called to the mess of curls poorly hidden around the corner.

Peter pushed himself more tightly against the wall and held his breath. He nearly jumped through the ceiling when Tony appeared in front of him.

He mumbled shyly, his eyes aimed toward the floor. "Too cheesy, huh?"

Tony didn't say anything.

"I know it's kind of weird and mushy but, even though I know it's not like a big deal... I just thought that—because, you know... I don't know what I'm trying to say."

A second later, a pair of arms circled tightly around Peter.

"Mr-,"

"Shh."

Peter's stiff body relaxed into the embrace, pretending not to notice the dampness on his scalp as Tony's forehead pressed into his hair.

Tony finally released him a moment later.

"Okay. Well, don't stay up too late. I promised May I'd bring you back in better shape than I found you."

His voice were steady as he patted Peter's shoulder, desperately trying to look composed, but the glint in his eyes gave him away.

"Love you too," Peter whispered, swiftly hugging Tony and then disappearing down the hall before he could protest.

Tony smiled and leaned against the wall, rubbing the cardstock between his fingers. He wondered when it had happened—when had the switch been flipped?

Because it wasn't just the third Sunday in June anymore.

And he hoped it would never be just that again.


End file.
